


Les Etoiles

by Soujin



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Space, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Outer Space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-14
Updated: 2012-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-16 06:47:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/536649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soujin/pseuds/Soujin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brief glimpse of life in space for the ensigns on La Patria.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Les Etoiles

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written as a commission for a fundraiser in 2010.

Marius sighs and signals from the shuttle, bringing her around to the _Leblanc_ ’s docking bay. Cosette is writing override commands into the docking bay’s signal wiring even as he pulls the shuttle into a smooth curve and drives her hard towards the side of the _Leblanc_. A moment later the bay door opens and he makes an easy landing, sliding into place with hardly a sound.

He flips all the switches, shutting her down, and drops through the hatch in her belly into the hangar, landing in a crouch. When he looks up, Cosette is smiling from the personnel entrance, her black coder’s jumpsuit the best thing he’s seen in days.

“You made it!”

“Courfeyrac’s covering for me.”

“Papa’s taken a shore mission on Huron. He won’t be back until 23:00 hours. Come on!”

Marius watches her walk, following her into the _Leblanc_. She moves gracefully, like a star on its course, bright and dancing. Even when she’s disobeying her father, she can’t be dampened too much by guilt, and when she turns to be sure he’s there her smile makes his heart tremble. Her dark curls are cropped short for working, but he’s filled with the urge to run his hands through her hair anyway.

“What about the rest of the crew?”

“Nobody cares what I do. Nobody notices. Honestly, Marius, I’m not the centre of the universe.”

He laughs, uncertainly, but she catches his hand in hers and pulls him towards quarters.

\---

“He’s really sick, sir,” Courfeyrac says, calm as a planet without atmo. The Guardsman eyes him suspiciously. “I swear to heaven, sir. Filled a bucket _and_ I’ll have to clean the sheets.”

Joly looks pained and nudges Bossuet’s shoulder. “And I’ll probably get it too,” she says in an undertone.

“You, Ensign, be quiet!”

“He was sorry he couldn’t be on duty. He begged me to apologise on his behalf, sir.”

“He’s still getting a black mark on the books, Ensign,” the Guardsman says. “You’re all dismissed. Get to your stations and wait on orders.”

Enjolras leans over to Combeferre. “I’m telling you, it’s unconscionable. When Captain Lamarque dies, we’re all done for. Nobody’s going to keep them in check; the Ensigns are going to be trampled on. I’m not just talking about us. This ship’s full of men and women, and it can’t be borne what’s going to happen to them.”

Combeferre adjusts her glasses and pulls on the blue gloves that go with their matching jumpsuits: science uniform. “Yes, I understand that, but mutiny?”

“If it’s well-organised we’ll be able to take command easily. I don’t see why we shouldn’t.”

“It’s going to take a damned lot of planning. Well-organised isn’t the word.”

“We’ll _have_ planning. I’ve already talked to Courfeyrac. I know he’s frivolous, but he’s serious about that. I need your help.”

“Of course I’m going to help,” she snaps. “I always help you. That’s not the point.”

“I’m taking every precaution. Face it, the upper ranks of Security are insane, they’re power-drunk, and something has to be done. I’m willing to do it.”

“I’ll talk to Feuilly and Bahorel. I know they’re both unhappy with the way things are being run. Guardsmen aren’t supposed to have influence over engineers and they’re chafing.”

“Good. Thanks.”

\---

“So where _is_ Pontmercy?”

“He’s off-ship, the silly bastard.” Courfeyrac rolls his eyes, not moving his gaze from the dash panel in front of him.

“What a fool.”

“He’s no more a fool than you are. I can’t keep covering for you either, so for God’s sake stop showing up drunk. You’re just lucky I can pilot this damned ship by myself.”

Grantaire heaves a sigh and taps the controls. “You say the unkindest things.”

“You’re putting us off-course.”

“I am not.”

“You just changed our degree of orbit.” He fiddles with a dial, leaning over Grantaire to readjust a screen.

“You smell like honeysuckle.”

“You don’t know what honeysuckle smells like, and you’ve forgotten how to flirt.”

“You’re the one who brought me onto this heap in the first place.”

“Shut up,” Courfeyrac says gently. “You’re drunk. Let me do my job and just pretend to do yours.”

\---

Joly hugs her knees to her chest and closes her eyes, spinning her chair from side to side. “We aren’t _going_ to have any communications. They’re in negotiations down there, they don’t care.”

“Shhh, I’m picking something up.”

“You are not. I don’t hear anything.”

“It’s not from the planet. Shut up.” Bossuet turns the frequency dial, tuning for the signal. “This is the PFS _Patria_ , I’m Ensign L’Aigle.”

The voice comes through crackly, but clear enough that Joly sits straight up in her chair. “Bossuet! It’s Pontmercy. I can’t get the shuttle to start. For God’s sake someone get Feuilly.”

“That idiot,” Joly hisses, flipping the intercom for the engine room. “This is Communications to Engine Control, requesting Ensign Feuilly for consulting.”

“This is Ensign Feuilly, what’s the trouble?”

“Requesting your _presence_ ,” she says. “Come _on_ , Feuilly.”

“Wait, it’s you? Fuck you anyway, I’m busy.”

“Dammit! Is your senior officer down there?”

“Yes, but he’s across the room.”

“Pontmercy stranded a shuttle on some other ship. _Please_ come up and figure out what’s wrong.”

“He deserves it for sneaking off.”

“I’ll tell Bahorel I saw you flirting with Courfeyrac at dinner yesterday, see how he likes that.”

“He won’t care.”

“I’ll tell him I saw you _fondling_ somebody else’s engine when we docked on Alpha Centauri last month.”

“Fuck!”

“Now _get up here_.”

The intercom clicks off and ten minutes later they can hear Feuilly’s boots thudding down the hall. Half a moment after that she comes skidding into the Communications room, grabbing a wall to stop herself. She’s wearing a green jumpsuit and a crewcut, standard for engineers. “Here!”

“Thank God. Talk him through.”

She grabs the transmitter from Bossuet. “What the fuck did you do, Pontmercy?”

“I don’t know! The shuttle won’t start!”

“Has she got fuel?”

“I’m not _that_ stupid.”

“Check the pressure gauge.”

“Steady.”

“All right, look in the middle of the panel.”

“Top or bottom?” His voice goes high with panic.

“Bottom. What’s your problem? Courfeyrac said he covered you for the day, and they only check the shuttle dock once a day.”

“Her father’s coming back!”

“You’re fucking stupid. All right, there’s a bunch of green dials, then a blue one.”

“Got it.”

“Is the blue one lit?”

“It’s lit.”

“That’s what I thought. Go back to the navigation panel.”

“Got it. I got it.”

“Type in the realignment passcode. It’s 1832 on all these old shuttles. Then start her up again.”

“…One… Eight… Three… Two, got it! Oh, God, she started. I owe you. Thank God. Thank you.”

Feuilly turns to Bossuet. “How d’you turn these damn things off?”

“Like this,” she says, flicking it off. “What did he do?”

“He stalled her,” grimly. “Because he’s a grade-A moron. I’m going back to work.”

\---

“Hey, what’d they need up in Comms?”

“Pontmercy stalled his fucking shuttle and didn’t know how to realign.”

Bahorel leans back against a pipe and laughs. “I guess he’s new.”

“It’s not that hard to work a shuttle.”

“Green recruit, baby.”

“He’d better learn. Next time I won’t bail him out.” She settles beside him, then leans over and kisses his cheek. Bahorel slips an arm around her waist. “Nothing exciting going on down here, huh?”

“Same as it was when you left.”

“Chief around?”

“Around. Probably wants us to get started on that compression coil.”

“Better get going, then.”

“We better.” He draws her forward and kisses her, running a hand over her short hair, rubbing a grease stain off her cheek with his thumb. “All right.”

Feuilly smiles.

\---

Up in the coder’s room, Prouvaire is sitting by himself, typing and retyping poetry. A ship as large and well-run as the _Patria_ doesn’t use its coders much, but, he figures, that gives him more time to work on this love poem, for one of the medical assistants down on the science floor. She doesn’t notice him now, but with luck--

He’s always fallen in love with medical assistants. He doesn’t know why. Perhaps it’s just that they’re so smart and so skilful, and he can’t help feeling passionate about a woman who could cut him to pieces and analyse his every part, then sew him back up again and call it a day’s work.

Anyway, Ana is perfect, and his poem should be too. He turns to the triffid on his desk, a juvenile that sleeps in a plant pot and eats freeze-dried protein chunks. “Rhymes for paragon?”

It hums in answer.

\---

Marius gets back to the _Patria_ later than he meant to, between the shuttle scare and a little wandering on the return trip--he should have been more careful, but there’s a small asteroid belt near Huron and he wanted to see it--but he docks the shuttle without any trouble and sneaks back to his quarters.

Courfeyrac’s excuse means he’s better off staying here for the rest of the day, so he curls up in his bunk, unzipping the yellow navigator’s jumpsuit to the waist. He means to rest for a little while and then maybe read some, or do something useful, or maybe just daydream about Cosette (they held hands for a whole hour on board the _Leblanc_ ) but instead he falls asleep.

He doesn’t wake up until evening, when Courfeyrac comes in and shakes him awake with a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, lover-boy. Did you have any luck?”

“It was wonderful,” he says fervently.


End file.
